"Count off, you sheiks," Coffin Ed said. They had the case wrapped up before the prowl cars arrived. The pressure was off. They felt cocky. "Praise Allah," the tallest of the Arabs said. As though performing a ritual, the others said, "Mecca," and all bowed low with outstretched arms. "Cut the comedy and straighten up," Grave Digger said. "We're holding you as wimesses." "Who's got the prayer?" the leader asked with bowed head. "I've got the prayer," another replied. "Pray to the great monster," the leader commanded. The one who had the prayer turned slowly and presented his white-robed backside to Coffin Ed. A sound like a hound dog baying issued from his rear end. "Allah be praised," the leader said, and the loose white sleeves of their robes fluttered in response. Coffin Ed didn't get it until Sonny and his friends laughed in amazement. Then his face contorted in black rage. "Punks!" he grated harshly, somersaulted the bowed Arab with one kick, and leveled on him with his pistol as if to shoot him. "Easy man, easy," Grave Digger said, trying to keep a straight face. "You can't shoot a man for aiming a fart at you." "Hold it, monster," a third Arab cried, and flung liquid from a glass bottle toward Coffin Ed's face. "Sweeten thyself." Coffin Ed saw the flash of the bottle and the liquid flying and ducked as he swung his pistol barrel. "It's just perfume," the Arab cried in alarm. But Coffin Ed didn't hear him through the roar of blood in his head. All he could think of was a con man called Hank throwing a glass of acid into his face. And this looked like another acid thrower. Quick scalding rage turned his acidburnt face into a hideous mask and his scarred lips drew back from his clenched teeth. He fired two shots together and the Arab holding the half-filled perfume bottle said, "Oh," softly and folded slowly to the pavement. Behind, in the crowd, a woman screamed as her leg gave beneath her. The other Arabs broke into wild flight. Sonny broke with them.